


Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive

by ConnieWhelan



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parenting, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, MacCready's Parenting Methods Are Unorthodox Yet Effective, Other, Swearing, Toddlers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnieWhelan/pseuds/ConnieWhelan
Summary: MacCready is going to be a good dad, goddamn it.





	Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of creative cussing. Like, a whole lot. It is sort of the point of the story. If words like "turdwaffle" or "shitgibbon" are an issue for you, you may not enjoy this.

The kid remembers him so that’s something. Or maybe he doesn’t? It’s hard to tell. He’s a baby. Wait, is 18 months a baby or a toddler? 

That one’s Lucy Stuff, the kind of info he could just offload onto Lucy’s crazy brain and trust her to remember. But Lucy’s been gone more than a year now and all the Lucy Stuff is gone with her and now he’s left to try and figure out if the kid’s fuzzy alien toy is a choking hazard all on his own. 

“You don’t need to worry,” Moira says brightly. “The first few prototypes weren’t baby-proof but this one almost definitely is.”

“Thank you,” he says. “For…well, you know.” 

Moira pats his cheek, the only person in the world who can get away with that. “He’s tough. Like his daddy. He’ll be okay.” She kisses the baby on his mottled forehead. “And with a little practice you’ll be walking in no time, huh?”

She pulls away and the kid squirms in his arms. “Hey,” he says in that soft voice that always used to work before. “Hey, it’s okay, bud. I got you.”

“Remember,” says Moira. “The capsules twice a day and the lotion every night before bed. Open up the capsules and stir the powder into his formula. It doesn’t taste like anything much.” 

“Sure thing.” 

The kid’s straight-up fussing now, whining and squirming and shoving at his chest. “No. No. Mowa!”

Moira’s face scrunches up for a second. “You should go. He’s not well enough yet to be getting all worked up.”

“Mowa. Mowa!” The kid reaches out for her and MacCready can feel the bandages shifting under his rocket ship pyjamas. Jesus, kid. Don’t do this. Please. But cripes, the kid’s got the famous MacCready mouth on him and there’s no stopping him now. “No, no, no, no, NO!” 

Moira’s face scrunches up again as she ushers them out the door. “Goodbye, Duncan. Take care of your daddy for me!” And then he’s in standing in the street with a screaming child in his arms and panic rising in his chest like a mushroom cloud. 

“Stop, stop, stop. I need you to be quiet. I need you to listen to me. I came all this way for you. Please.” 

No, no, no. This isn’t fair. This isn’t Lucy Stuff. This was always what he was good at it, this was the one thing he knew how to do. Why won’t this stupid fucking goddamn shitty kid settle down?

“Listen up, you little shit. I busted my balls getting those meds for you. Your mother didn’t die so that your stupid ass could make a fucking scene out here in the middle of the street.”

Silence. Then the kid wriggles again and Christ, he’s way too strong for somebody as sick as he is. He drops the alien plushie and it sets off a whole new round of wailing. MacCready shifts the kid to his right arm and bends to pick up the fucking adorable alien’s dumb ass. “Would you just listen? Jesus fuck! I gave up cussing for you, you know that? You know how hard that was? Well, fuck that. It’s open fucking season now.” The kid frowns at him. Wait, frowning is good. Frowning is not screaming. Frowning is a quiet goddamn activity. Fuck yeah.

He starts walking. “I gave up so many words for you, you little bastard. Fucking fantastic words. Shit. Balls. Ass. Cocksucker. Dickwad. Shitweasel. Jesus Motherfucking Christ.” He peeks down at the kid. Still frowning. Okay.

“I couldn’t call people turdwaffles. I couldn’t call people jizzstains. I met plenty of people who were shit-ass turd-munching cock-guzzling fucknuts but could I tell them that? No! I had to stand there like a pansy-ass shitgibbon and say ‘Oh, darn! Oh, gee whiz!’ like some little bitch. And you know what, assface? I did it all for you. So you are gonna shut your face and we are gonna go to Boston and get you better and if you grow up to be half as good at cussing as your dipshit old man then I’ll know I’ve done something productive with my shit ass life.”

It’s quiet.

“Duncan?”

The kid’s asleep. Jesus Mary and Joseph and the fucking donkey.

Relief hits like a sledgehammer. He lets himself crumple onto a park bench and sob for a minute, big old choking sobs that feel like a punch to the gut. Duncan stirs a little so he swallows the rest of the sobs down hard. They can come later, later when he's home safe and everyone's asleep and he can bury his face into Dogmeat's fur. For now, he brushes back Duncan's dark hair and kisses the top of his head. “I love you, little fucker."


End file.
